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Doubts have been raised about the veracity of some of Reischek's recollections. See Michael King's biography of Reischek: 'The Collector' (Auckland: Hodder and Stoughton, 1981). For a partial defence of Reischek, see Erich Kolig, 'Andreas Reischek and the Maori: Villainy or the Nineteenth-Century Scientific Ethos?' Pacific Studies 10, no. 1 (1986): 55–78, and Oliver J. Harrison, '"The Paradise of the Southern Hemisphere": The Perception of New Zealand and the Maori in Written Accounts of German-speaking Explorers and Travellers 1839-1889' (Ph.D. Thesis, University of Auckland, 2006), 221–91.
Many of the Maori names and geographic locations in this book are mispelled, as are, on occasion, English names. The English translator, H. E. L. Priday, made no attempt to correct these errors. Since this electronic edition is a documentary reproduction of Priday's translation, these mistakes remain in the on-line version.
A Facsimile Edition
Printed and Published >by Wilson & Horton Ltd.
Queen Street, Auckland, New Zealand
To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
(Canto II.)Childe Harold
The Author
Joy of discovery is writ large over the work of the simple, sympathetic foreigner who is the author of this book.
Fifty or so years ago he was admitted without question to the ranks of bearded Victorian pioneers to whom the Dominion of New Zealand owes so much.
To-day, however, he is forgotten.
It is the object of this book to save his work from forgetfulness, to place his among the gallery of portraits of the men of a bygone age, on whom the younger generations can look back.
Perhaps, also, he will help to remind them how good, how strenuous life was 'in the good old days,' when their Dominion was still half-savage, still unsettled, after the toughest of colonial wars, and before the fire and axe of succeeding generations of peaceful settlers had robbed her of so much of her incomparable possession, the native bush.
A remnant of that age may even be alive to-day, to recognise the picture given here of vanished times, when Ruapehu and Mount Cook were still unclimbed, when there was a tattooed Maori king, and the cry of the kiwi was still in the land.
The war of 1866 caught him in its toils, and he saw service on the Tyrolese front, after which he travelled in Italy and elsewhere, seizing what opportunities came his way to extend his knowledge. In 1875 he married, and settled in Vienna as a taxidermist and seller of educational necessities.
The longing of his youth was soon to be fulfilled. Novara, got to know of Reischek's abilities. One day he asked him if he would like to go out to New Zealand to arrange the newly built museum at Christchurch.
The stipulated length of his engagement was two
Reischek studied English during the voyage out, and our language soon became second nature to him, so that a large part of his records are written in English, and even for a long time after his return to Europe, his speech was thickly larded with anglicisms.
In New Zealand he arranged the museums of Christchurch, Auckland, and Wanganui — then a little town of a few thousand inhabitants — besides a large number of private collections. But the work he really loved lay far from towns, in the mountain and the bush; and in the twelve eventful years he made himself thoroughly acquainted with the country, the natives, and the odd flora and fauna of the Islands. He soon picked up the Maori language, a knowledge of which was to be of great service to him.
In the course of eight lengthy expeditions with his faithful dog Cæsar, he wandered through New Zealand from top to bottom, and also visited the adjacent islands.
English and Maori alike esteemed Reischek as a man and a pioneer of the true breed, and he spoke lovingly of the Colony to the very day of his death. His gift for honest friendship was recognised when he was elected member of one of New Zealand's first
England was eager to buy his collection, but he preferred to give it to his native country where, until a year or two ago, his work was practically neglected. A Reischek Exhibition, held in Vienna in 1926, and the publication of the German edition of his diary, have already done much to remedy this neglect.
Few men have loved New Zealand better than this simple-hearted foreigner, the record of whose intrepid and untiring journeyings enriches our knowledge of that vanished age to which New Zealanders will ever look back with a mingling of pride and regret.
The farewell banquet which my friends had arranged in my honour began in the afternoon of February 6, 1877, and they did their best with song, music, and speechifying to cheer my last hours at home.
I left Vienna next morning, saying a fond goodbye to my wife. The country was in the depths of winter. When I caught sight of the dark sea before me, I was seized with the spirit of adventure. I was three days in Trieste before we sailed, and was travelling second-class as far as Suez on the Castor, a Lloyd steamer of 3000 tons.
After passing the lighthouse of Brindisi we struck the worst storm which — so our officers said — had been experienced in the Mediterranean for twenty years. I got such a bad attack of sea-sickness that I spat blood; and at Suez, where I left the Castor, which was going on to Bombay, the doctor advised me to give up the voyage if I started vomiting blood again.
After a day in the town I went on board the screw-steamer Nepaul, which was taking me to Ceylon. I nearly missed the ship through dining with an acquaintance, and had to hurry off on the back of a mule, followed by a Bedouin boy, who every now and then tickled the animal under the loins with his stick as he ran panting beside.
Our officers were English, with a crew of Singalese, Chinese, mulattoes, and niggers. The boat was overcrowded and the heat was unbearable, so that we could neither eat nor sleep. I began to learn English. In the evening I would sit in a corner of the deck watching the marvellous colours of the sunset and playing on my mouth-organ, till one evening somebody invited me to play in the saloon. I played for an hour, until finally a gentleman, who evidently thought I was to be pitied on account of my homely clothes, made a collection for me. This I divided among the sailors.
The niggers on board entertained us one evening to a dance. They shook their heads and feet and struck their hands on their thighs, wailing a mournful ditty, and sometimes banged their heads together, until finally they were exhausted.
At Ceylon I left the ship, and had three days ashore before boarding the Bungalore, which was to take me to Australia.
The Bungalore was not fitted up in the comfortable fashion of a Lloyd or a British East India liner. Rats infested the fore-deck; when we were eating they would come and sit around, watching us curiously. Often at night they would play hide-and-seek over our bodies, and in the morning clothing and shoes would be gnawed. It was excessively hot, but the red ants seemed to thrive on it.
By March 14, half the people on board were in quarantine. An epidemic of small-pox had broken out. The patients lay on the poop, while the rest of the passengers were penned together in a very limited
One evening, when passing the Kokos or Keeling Islands, we ran into a thunderstorm. It was terribly sultry, and in the motionless air we could hear nothing but the soft stir of the water in the wake of the boat. Suddenly a bright flash lit up the ship, followed by peal upon peal of thunder. Most of the passengers crouched anxiously in their cabins, sicker than ever, but this time I escaped that misery and stopped on deck, struck by the fury of the elements.
The bad weather lasted a week, till on March 23 we greeted with joy the lighthouse of King George Sound, near Albany, on the south coast of Australia. Our sick were now taken to the quarantine hospital, and the rest of us were glad enough to get on land, and escape from the pestilential atmosphere. The yellow flag waved over us as we ran into the harbour; no pilot boarded us, and we berthed alone, remaining isolated until the 26th, when we put to sea.
In stormy weather we sailed along the Australian coast to Melbourne, where we anchored, again in quarantine.
April 1 brought beautiful weather, and the harbour was like an immense lake. It was Easter Sunday. Pleasure steamers with bands on board passed to and fro, but kept well clear at sight of our yellow flag. It was no festival for us, and we longingly gazed across from the infected ship to land. Our food was wretched —
Two days later I went ashore. I followed the path leading to the graveyard of the quarantine station, a peaceful scene of humble crosses. The hill was overgrown with wild flowers, and bright-coloured butterflies fluttered past the graves of those unfortunates who had died on the way from Motherland to Land of Promise. I sat down under a tree near the grave of a German, took out my mouth-organ, and played the songs of home. The feathered inhabitants of Australia fascinated me.
On April 8 we went to Williamstown, and thence by rail to Melbourne, where I stayed until the 11th. This modern town, only thirty-five years old, already numbered 300,000 inhabitants. The progressive spirit of the colonial was remarkable. At the station I took leave of many of my companions of the Bungalore. The rats had played havoc with the possessions of some. One had nearly all the uppers of his only pair of shoes chewed away, while another had holes gnawed through his one and only hat. The day we reached Melbourne being Sunday, all the shops were closed, so we had to stay indoors.
I was much struck by the universal use of the horse. The postman galloped from house to house and whistled for people to come and take their letters, travellers rode round with samples in their saddlebags, butcher-boys with giant baskets called out from horseback the magic word 'Meat' until their customers
I visited Consul Thoenemann, who did his best for me, and found somebody to guide me about, bought a ticket to Tasmania, and then went to the Botanical Gardens to see Baron Miller, Sir Frederick Miller was knighted for his twenty years' service to Australian botany.—Ed.
Back at the hotel I found a letter waiting for me from Dr. Julius von Haast, begging me to start work at Christchurch as soon as possible; so I shipped next day in rough weather on the little steamer Tangaroa, bound first of all for Hobart.
One night, passing along the coast, we watched a great bush fire, which lit up the horizon like a mighty torch. The weather was still wretched. One or two missionaries were on deck, holding a prayer-meeting with a congregation of women and girls. Suddenly the ship gave a lurch, and a big wave swept them all against the rail. Wet through, they were not long in making for their bunks. Truly Tangaroa, the Maori sea-god, listens to no prayers!
On the 18th we saw land again, little islands backed by a grand chain of snow-covered peaks. It was the south coast of the South Island of New Zealand.
Natives had come over from Ruapuke Island to barter fish; they were the first Maoris I ever saw. When they heard I had come to have a look at their country, they wanted me to go straightway with them to their island. The chief, who spoke in broken English, told me they had a German missionary there with whom they got on well, so I sent him greetings on a card.
On April 20, we reached Port Chalmers, where I found von Menderhausen (the German Consul) awaiting me; also Professor Hutton, who accompanied me by rail to Dunedin, gave me lunch, and showed me the Museum.
Next day twelve cannon-shot from the fort announced the arrival of the Governor, in whose honour festivities had been arranged; and the day following I found myself bound for Lyttelton, where my future chief, Dr. Julius von Haast, was waiting for me. As it was Sunday, all shops were closed, and we had to prove we were bona fide travellers before they would give us lunch at the hotel. In sparkling champagne we drank to success in my new home.
At Christchurch we went straight to the Museum, the new wing of which was still empty. Case upon case of raw skins and crude skeletons in the storerooms showed me that I should have my work cut out. After a hurried inspection we went to Dr. von Haast's house, where I was introduced to his wife and children. Mrs. von Haast kindly put me up for the night, and
I started work at the Museum on the 24th. The opening ceremony was to take place on June 10, and by then Sir Julius wanted to have the best groups ready, so I set to on two of the largest. In the first, I placed three grizzly bears before a cave, clawing at a dead antelope, while from a rock above a lynx and a condor looked greedily down on this vanishing prey. The second group showed two chamois springing away frightened at sight of an eagle's eyrie, while, against a mountainous background of snow, white hares were playing and little marmots squatting among the rocks. A mountain cock was perched on the branch of a tree, beneath which the hens were strutting in a group. Both groups were ready by June 5, when the Governor came to see the work, and congratulated me.
The opening ceremony went off very well. All the town officials were gathered to receive the Governor. A band played the National Anthem, the choir sang songs, and the banquet which terminated the proceedings lasted until midnight. On our way home, Dr. von Haast got alarmed about burglars, especially as he had forgotten to warn the constables to be on the look-out. So I fetched a revolver and stood guard in the corridor. Sure enough, I had not been there more than half an hour when I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and voices whispering under the window. I crept softly to the side door and tried to open it, but the lock grated and warned the intruders. Rushing
Next morning the papers were full of the new Museum, and for several days after the opening, it was filled to overflowing. I was now able to take a little more leisure, and had time for a number of small outings. On one of these occasions I spent some days in the neighbourhood of Little River, where I was enchanted by my first experience of the New Zealand bush.
On September 11, three days after leaving Christchurch, we met a Maori who took us along to his pa, or Maori fortress, where I was soon surrounded by a circle of men, women, and children, who were surprised to find I was not English. They examined my clothing, gun, and sheath-knife, inquired curiously about the country I came from, and then gave us a meal of pork and potatoes. They also looked at my photographs, and when we went away gave me a greenstone axe.
By the middle of December I was beginning to think of a much longer trip than had hitherto been possible. Choosing the best part of the year, the summer, I wanted to cross the South Island from east to west, hoping thereby to gain my first real experience of the New Zealand bush and mountains. It was nothing out of the ordinary to undertake, but once I had chosen a horse and bought tent and tucker, I was seized with impatient longing to be off.
I Left Christchurch on horseback early on December 18. The Canterbury Plains stretched before me as far as Malvern Hill. On both sides of the road lay farms, with paddocks stretching endlessly. It conjured up visions of my own home, save that here and there I caught sight of a strange bird, or of a palm-tree, or heard the sound of a strange tongue, to break the illusion.
And then, behind Malvern Hill, the landscape suddenly changed. Here were bare tussock-clad mountains and stony morain-slopes, and deep valleys crossed by many a roaring creek, where still lingered the majestic remains of virgin bush, forming the passage from flat pastoral charm to the heroic majesty of the hills.
I stayed the night in the little village of Malvern, getting my horse shod at the smithy, and left on the 19th by a rough track over a stony ridge. As my horse had a heavy load, I went on foot, leading him by the bridle. At one place on the track I saw dotterel running over the hills, and without thinking my horse might not be used to the sound of a gun, I let loose and shot one. As the shot rang out, there was a tug at the bridle and the horse broke loose. It took two hours to catch him, and when I had done so, I found to my disgust that some of my most valued possessions
Finally I came to a sheep station. After I had yelled and knocked for a long time, a woman came and opened the door, but as soon as she saw I was carrying a gun she refused to listen to my request for a night's lodging, and suspiciously banged the door to in my face. There was nothing for it but to trudge on. It began to rain, and became so black that I could not see a step in front. I rode through two swollen streams, and Was thankful about midnight to arrive at the boarding-house of Porter's Pass.
Here also I had to knock for half an hour before the door was opened. After seeing to my horse and dog I was at last able to enjoy a bite of cold mutton and a cup of tea, the best that was to be had. I had to pay nearly a pound for this accommodation, and then had to sleep in the stable, as I wanted to start off at four next morning.
It was a beautiful morning; the fresh mountain air did me good after the enervating heat of the plains. The mountain-side was bare and covered with loose boulders; only here and there manuka, akeake, or other shrub was fighting a dour battle for existence. On the west side, at the foot of the Pass, lay a little lake, the Lyndon. Paradise duck, grey duck, little grebe, and other water dwellers were enjoying life
A procession of pack-horses came jogging along towards me; they were going to fetch stores for Malvern Hill sheep station. About three o'clock I reached the station of Mr. Enys, a patron of our Museum, for whom I had a letter from Dr. von Haast. I found him in the shearing-shed. In this part of the world the sheep are never washed, and are only shorn once a year, the wool being then pressed into bales and sent to Europe. Shearing is carried out very quickly, sometimes as many as a hundred shearers working together in two rows. Mr. Enys owned over 20,000 sheep, and yet was a long way from being the biggest sheep-owner in New Zealand, for there are stations which support 60,000 sheep.
After a good supper and a refreshing sleep I was again up early on the 21st. Another wonderful day! My way lay through thick bush in the hollows of which lay little swamps full of reeds, out of which Maorihens (wekas) were peering. On Rickerborn Lake I shot some duck, but one of them, before my dog could retrieve it, was pulled under by an eel. A heavy thunderstorm took me by surprise. The rain fell in torrents, and my horse showed great fear of the lightning, which flashed almost unceasingly across the sky. After dark, at a bend in the road where it wound high over a precipice, in whose depths the Waimakariri was tossing, I suddenly found the four-horse postcoach coming towards me at a gallop. My horse began
At eleven o'clock I reached Mr. Bruce's station, and was not a little surprised at finding such a comfortable home in this lonely spot. After a good supper I went to bed, but was too tired to sleep, in spite of my cosy lodging. Next day the weather was so miserable that Mr. Bruce would not let me go any farther.
Early on the 23rd I left, accompanied by a boy. We rode down to the Waimakariri River — a mighty stream which rises in the central chain of the Southern Alps near Mount Greenlow, and is fed by the melting of several glaciers. In many places the river forced its way through precipitous banks, then it would spread itself out again, and separate into numerous channels flowing over gravel. In one such place we found it possible to cross both arms, though the rain had swollen them considerably. Luckily my companion knew the ford well.
He left me here, and I rode on alone to Bealey, which lies on the tableland between the Waimakariri and Bealey Rivers. This being the last post and telegraph station, I took the opportunity of sending off some letters and a telegram to Dr. von Haast before riding on.
At first the road led along the foot of a mountain, then by the broad Bealey River, much swollen by the recent rains, which I had to cross and recross several times. On both sides of me rose high wooded hills. Numbers of parrots were darting about among the mighty trees. About eleven o'clock I reached the foot
The landscape grew more and more romantic. In the valley the river pushed its foaming way through the gorges, but now the mighty trees soon gave way to gnarled and stunted shrubs. Towards the south-west numerous waterfalls tumbled over the face of the rock,
Tui.
Metrosideros lucida), with fire-red blossom, burned strikingly against the dark-green background of the forest. Honey-suckers were flying round the trees, drawing the honey out of the flowers. The steel-green parson-bird (tui), with his white necktie, was piping merrily away, and the bell-bird was singing his marvellous song, while green bush wrens (Xenicus) were hopping around, softly
I had another breather at midday when I got to the top of the Pass, and then began the descent to the wildly romantic Otira Gorge. Owing to the heavy rains the road was flooded in several places, and it began to snow, summer though it was, so I had some difficulty in getting the horse any farther.
At length I reached the Gorge. Between high and nearly perpendicular walls of rock, on which fern and moss were growing luxuriantly, the wild Otira roared and tossed its stony way valleywards. From the crest and in the nooks of the stream, tree-fern, creeper vine, and other luxuriant vegetation hung in thick confusion. In one short stretch I passed ten waterfalls. Unfortunately, the teeming rain spoiled my enjoyment of this most beautiful and striking piece of New Zealand landscape. Soaked through to the skin, I at length reached the Otira boarding-house, situated at the junction of the Otira and the Teremakau.
Here I found good accommodation, changed my clothes, devoured my supper, fed the animals, and went to bed. The bad weather continued on the 24th, and my host strongly advised me not to go on. I could not afford to do this, for the longer I waited the higher grew the torrent which I should have to cross. Very carefully I rode into the flood, and had safely reached the middle when my horse lost his footing and slipped. With a sudden jerk I brought
I now found myself in the Teremakau Valley, which presented quite a different appearance. I was riding through thick bush, which climbed up the mountain slopes for 2000 feet. Through the tree-tops now and again I caught glimpses of the shimmering glacier. Tremendous beech and miro trees roofed over the rich undergrowth of fern and tree-fern. The track itself was lined with manuka and veronica bushes. To the right of me brawled the Teremakau. A multitudinous bird life inhabited this dusky wilderness, and laid a spell on me.
At eleven o'clock that night I came across a primitive inn situated in the middle of the bush. Immediately I saw it I thought of the tiny wooden hut of the Knusperhexe at home, and my illusion was even stronger when an old woman opened the door. She assured me she was an excellent cook, on the strength of which I ordered a Christmas pudding to celebrate Christmas Eve.
Alas! the so-called pudding was terrible! It was hard as a brick, and there was nothing for it but to give it to my ravenous dog, and content myself with tea. My bed was miserable, so altogether I regretted that I had not camped in the open. The strangeness of things made me feel that the proper place for Christmas is round one's own domestic hearth.
Next morning I rode on through magnificent forest. A rich and summerlike world of colour was all around me, and yet in my heart I was still longing for the
During the morning gold-diggers and shepherds came riding in to celebrate — a wild party of adventurers. The long table was laid, and a Christmas feast brought in, such as no one would have dreamt of in such a wilderness. There was pork and roast mutton, chicken, and finally pudding. After this royal meal mine host brought out an old flintlock, shot, and powder-horn, and proposed a shooting match, putting up the old shooting-iron as a prize. The guests enthusiastically agreed, for the diggers and shepherds of the backblocks arc excellent shots and passionate huntsmen. But the Christmas grog by now had so unstcadied their limbs that the one to win the prize was the landlord himself — the only sober member of the party! The prowess of this wily old shooting champion was hereupon duly celebrated, naturally with more grog.
A few of the men now began to sing and dance, and others joining in, the tiny room became so crowded that if one lost his balance all the others tumbled over him and found it difficult to struggle to their legs again. They went on like this, drinking, singing, and dancing, till morning. When I stopped drinking, one of them staggered across to me, and as I was about to go upstairs to my own room, he made a spring at me,
Kea ( Nestor Notabilis), The Robber of the Hills
Such was my first Christmas in the wilds. I could hardly be expected to be as festive as these adventurers, who work hard and save for months on end, and then go and blue all away on a single occasion. When they have slept off their intoxication the game begins anew — work, save, until the next debauch.
Next morning, Boxing Day, I found these men still noisily drinking. About noon the manager, Bruce, came along with two shepherds from the Haihuna station to fetch me. They said the Teremakau was so swollen that we had better wait until next day. I filled in the rest of the day climbing the nearest mountain.
High up among the tussock, keas (Nestor notabilis) were hopping about among the stones and grass. They are fine-looking birds, audacious too, olive-green in colour, with darker bands. On the ground the kea is helpless, just hopping about like other parrots; but when he rises aloft into the sky he sweeps in circles like a hawk, up and up, until he appears but a minute speck. His call sounds like that of a rock-eagle — 'Kia … kiaaaa!' Up here I found this bird very trusting. I shot one.
This parrot is one of the characteristic rarities of the country. There are three kinds of nestors in New Zealand, outwardly little to be distinguished from one another, the Nestor montanus, meridionalis (kaka), and notabilis. But whereas the first two have remained true to type — harmless vegetarian feeders on seeds,
His powerful sharp beak, bent like an eagle's, his pointedshapely wings and long-drawn-out cry, make him easily recognisable for a bird of prey. As far as human beings are concerned, he is harmless and trustful, and was only troublesome to me through his innate curiosity, which often led him into my tent during my absence. Then I would find my shoes or clothes had been bitten through.
Flitting about among the stones like the European wren was the olive-green wren (Xenicus longipes). If I followed them, they played hide-and-seek with me without running away. They were catching insects, snapping at them with their pointed beaks, swallowing them, and then whispering to each other about it. Besides these two varieties of birds I noticed the brown swamp-hawk (Circus gouldi), which is common everywhere and very destructive, slowly winging its way in wide circles over the Alps.
To get to the boarding-house before nightfall I had to look quick about returning. Arrived there, I found the drinkers still hard at it. Next morning, the 27th, the weather was again fine.
Mr. Cameron brought the news that the river had fallen, so the horses were saddled and packed. Mr. Jackson accompanied us. Although the river was lower, the water at the ford was still up to my saddle. Leaving the river, we crossed a high plain ringed round with wooded mountains.
On the 28th I rode round the station with the manager. The plain was some 8 miles long by 4 wide: the dried-up bed of a lake bounded on the north by the Taipo, Rangapuku, and Teremakau, from south to west by the Brunner, Poerua, and Ladi lakes, and to the north-west by Mount Alexander.
I rode on afterwards to the mountain running down to Lake Brunner. The bush consisted of mighty beech and conifers. When I got to the edge I tied up my horse, and went on foot into the forest, which was swarming with nestor, tuis, and bell-birds. Within, grey-throats and other singers were carolling, hopping about and pecking at the moss-covered earth, and searching for insects under the roots of trees.
Fan-tails (Rhipidura flabellifera and fuliginosa), those delightful creatures, were flitting about like butterflies, and catching gnats and sandflies, which were here in myriads. Whenever they caught anything they would snap their beaks together in a satisfied way. The pigeons were cooing, and now and again the wekas boomed softly, and spied curiously out of their hiding-places among the roots.
While enjoying myself watching these birds, I heard a sudden cry of terror, and they all fled into the bush. A hawk had descended upon them. With a tui in its claws it plunged into the bush. I followed the daring robber, but without paying any heed to direction, and it was two hours before he came within range, and then I killed him in flight.
But now, when I struck off homewards, all the trees looked the same, and the whole hillside too, Athene novaezelandise) softly glided by me; they settled on the branches and let out their monotonous 'Morepork!'
After hours of blind wandering I called; my horse answered with a joyful neigh. Even then it was some time before I could get out into the open, when my horse, which had broken loose, came charging excitedly towards me. I rode across, to the station, which I reached at two o'clock in the morning, had a drink of tea, and then went to bed.
At 4 a.m. on New Year's Eve I left the Haihuna station with my dog, going west by a sheep-track leading up from the edge of the bush. Mount Alexander towered above me to the north, and to the left stretched the wide Haihuna Plain, covered with tussock and fern, on which thousands of sheep were grazing.
The weather was fine. The long-tailed cuckoo was calling from the tree-tops, and the morning concert of the bell-birds was as though the trees were hung with lightly tinkling silvery bells. Tuis were playing aloft in the air, and millions of dewdrops glittered on the trees. Little owls were flittering through the thickets; they were looking for hiding-places in which to sleep and digest for the remainder of the day. Maori-hens timidly peeping out of the fern turned back to warn their companions of my approach.
I called a halt near a spring, dragged some wood along for a fire, and boiled the billy. The fire brought along all the feathered denizens of the forest: yellow-
After a short rest I continued my way upwards, but stones and boulders made the ascent difficult. Wild sheep were standing among the stunted bushes near the hills, with wool nearly 15 inches long. Their eyes were so covered that they only noticed me when a puff of wind reached them from my direction, where-upon they quickly took to flight. I found a camping-ground beside a rock, carried some wood there from the neighbouring bushes, and lighted my camp-fire. The evening was wonderful. The moon was climbing up out of the sea of mist which covered the valley. The deep silence was only broken by the shrill pipe of a kiwi or the melancholy call of a weka.
My first solitary New Year's Eve in the wilds! I leaned against the rocks, and my thoughts flowed back to the dear ones at home. I thought of past years spent among friends, with good wine and good food. Now I was alone, with nothing but mouldy ship's biscuits and tea.
I Welcomed the year 1878 in Austrian fashion, with Ocydromus troglodytes), a rare specimen. Such was the ornithologist's New Year's present from the bush.
After midnight the clouds piled up and darkened the face of the moon. A sharp breeze got up, which soon degenerated into a gale; trees were brought low and rocks sent crashing down the mountain-side. I was obliged to shift camp and fire to a more sheltered spot, to escape the hailstones which were whipping violently across my face. Although in January it is midsummer in New Zealand, yet up here this New Year's morning there lay 12 inches of snow, and I awoke to find around me a homelike winter landscape.
As the weather showed no sign of bettering, I descended the mountain, slithering most of the way, but lost my bearings. It became dark too, and in the valleys it was raining in torrents, so that it was midnight by the time I got, to the station. Even then I found I could not get over the swollen creek. I yelled for all I was worth, and fired off five shots, and at last a shepherd came and asked what was the matter. I got him to bring me a horse, and eventually managed to cross. Wet through and tired out as I was, it did not take me long to tumble into bed.
On January 2 I started off early, in company with Mr. Garrow, a fisherman who lived in a lonely hut on the shores of Lake Brunner. His little boat took us up the narrow Rangapuku, which winds through dense bush to the lake. The branches of great trees, the veil-like fan of tree-ferns, and the thickly interwoven network of creepers formed a solid roof over the water, so that it was often a job to get through, rowing from a lying position.
The rays of the newly-risen sun gleamed like stars on thousands of shining dewdrops hanging from the soft-tinged web of fern. Then the forest awoke. The multitudinous voice of birds, the rustle of trees, and the murmur of waters voiced the eternal song of the living earth. The forms of fish gleamed dimly through the water, and on the surface duck and diver made an animated picture. Often our way was blocked by tree-trunks stretched across the creek, and then we had to lift the canoe over.
After a long and wonderful journey the bush grew lighter. Soon our boat was gliding out on to the broad Brunner lake, now rippled by a light breeze. Black swan, duct, and tufted diver were swimming about. Towards evening we landed before the fisherman's log hut. In the middle was a fireplace made of stone, and near by, fastened to a heavy chain, a tea-kettle.
This shack was the only dwelling on the lake. The bush stretched around for miles. On January 3 and 4 I took a walk through the bush, observing and bringing back a few birds, among them a brown Creadion cinereus), the existence of which had hitherto been questioned.
Towards the end of my journey a shower of rain took me by surprise, and I got back wet through. The fisherman lent me what he could from his primitive wardrobe — a pair of pants much too tight and at least a foot too short, and a faded coat which he might have inherited from his great-grandfather. The lapels of this coat hung behind me like a tail, and the collar just roofed over the back of my head; the buttonholes were made of twine, and for buttons I used pegs of wood. To complete the effect I wore a sort of top-hat daubed all over, and a pair of double-sewn canoe-like shoes. In this hermit's attire — enough to rouse pity in any one — I struggled forth to the lake to wash my clothes.
As we were sitting by the fire the same evening, two pets came along on a visit, a large brown rat and a wood-hen (weka), who enjoyed the hermit's hospitality every night at tea-time. Each could be called by name, and up to now they had always shared supper peacefully together; but to-night things came to a tragic issue. The rat snatched up a piece of fish which the fisherman threw him. The weka, thinking it should be hers, tried to snatch it away. In the quarrel that ensued the rat ran off; but the weka was just as nimble as he, and gave him such a peck on the head that he tumbled over dead.
Next day we both went back to the station, which I left early on the 7th in order to climb Mount Alexander from the south-east. This time I took tucker,
From the summit I had a beautiful view over a mass of bush, the Teremakau Valley with its mighty river, then, the Taipo and Rangapuku, with the Brunner, Poerua, and Ladi lakes. Farther off lay the township of Greymouth, the goldfield of Kumara, and two Maori pas. The sun was just casting his last rays over the mountain-tops, and after he had disappeared from the western skies the cloud-streaks blazed Like burning sheaves of corn. Slowly the grey mist crept up from the valleys, and a cool breeze reminded me that I must hurry up and fetch a store of wood.
It was high time indeed, for it grew dark and perceptibly colder. My tent was soon pitched: a few tea-tree branches for supports, a quantity of grass, a waterproof ground-sheet above and below, and the camp was ready. The fire crackled merrily before my tent, and all round reigned the sublime stillness of the wilds. Tired from the fatigue of the ascent, I was soon fast asleep.
On the 8th the weather was bad. I decided not to push on farther as it was snowy. I got back to the station about midnight in teeming rain.
On the 10th I dug in old Maori middens, finding a few tools, stone-axes, and little greenstone ornaments. But afterwards, when near Lake Brunner, I dug up one of the precious great greenstone clubs and an axe of the same noble material. Then my searcher's heart beat high with joy.
As the weather continued to be everlastingly miserable, I began to think about returning; but the Tere-makau was so flooded that it was impossible to cross. So I turned back to the station, and waited there until January 19, when, accompanied by the manager, I rode to the river. We found it somewhat subsided though still muddy, and had to swim our horses across.
My companion took a hearty farewell of me at Jackson's post station, where I called a brief halt for breakfast. The road was very bad, strewn with rocks and trees which the storm and flood had left, besides being flooded and obliterated in many places. At length I reached the Otira, which had also overflowed its banks. On the opposite side shepherds were camped with a great herd of sheep and cattle destined for the market at Hokitika. They thought it impossible to cross the wild flood, and sang out to me to camp where I was and wait until the water went down. I put my faith, however, in my good horse Tom. Fortunately, he found a good spot, and though we were carried a bit downstream, we managed to land unharmed on the other side.
I found good fodder for him at the Otira boarding-house, and then went on to Arthur's Pass, where I
It was dark by the time I reached Bealey station. After knocking for some time I was told that no night's lodgings were to be had there. I did not want to camp out in the open on account of the bad weather, and I determined, therefore, to undertake the hazardous enterprise in pitch-black night of fording the swift Waimakariri, already the cause of several deaths. The adventure succeeded, in spite of the fatigue of horse and rider, and we arrived safely at Mr. Bruce's station after midnight. He made us very welcome.
The 20th was beautiful and warm again. I rode on to Lake Rickerborn, and stopped there a bit to hunt water-fowl. On the 21st it was raining in torrents, so I set off on the next stage of my journey. Wet through, I arrived at Castlehill, where Mr. Enys kindly put me up. Riding on at a good pace, I passed Lake Lyndon, and climbed sharply up to cross Porter's Pass. At the top I found it miserably cold, and was glad enough in the evening to reach the station, where I could warm myself and dry my clothes beside the fire. On the 23rd I rode to Malvern Hill, which I reached by noon, and from there on I rode alongside the post-coach to Christchurch,
Thus happily and without untoward incident ended my first long ride in New Zealand, from which I had brought back a number of interesting specimens.
I now set to busily with the work at the Museum. The rhinoceros' skin I was working on soon became soft, and by February 18 I was able to set up both this and the model of an elephant. Now and again I made little hunting excursions to Forty Mile Beach, New Brighton, and other places, but on these occasions I generally came back and worked late at night in the Museum.
One day I watched an amusing street scene. A somewhat too cheerful Maori strolled up to a Chinaman, pulled a scornful face, and caught hold of his pigtail, asking him what that might be. The Chinese moved no muscle, but pointed to the Maori's tattooing and asked, 'And what's that?' Things would have come to a scrap if the Chinese had not quickly taken to flight before the rage of the Maori, whose national pride had been badly injured, had time to break out.
It is strange how all over the world foolish people — in this case the Maori — will laugh at the customs of other races, and regard their own with the utmost reverence!
There was a great sensation in Christchurch at the time. A big circus had arrived from America with, among other things, seven elephants, eight camels, six lions, a tiger, a jaguar, a leopard, a rhinoceros,
On April 8 I borrowed a young horse, and rode to Sumner, and thence continued along the sandy coast. Unthinkingly I took a pot from horseback at a bird which flew over. It fell on my horse's head, making him rear up, buck, and generally do his damnedest to shake me off. The left stirrup and the right rein broke, and at the next spring the girth gave, so saddle and I fell into the sea. The wild creature made off with the saddle-bags, in which were my kill, sheath-knife, and instruments I valued. The owner's son, who was with me, dashed off in pursuit, but it was no use. Sore and bruised, I was obliged to go back to Christchurch on foot. Three days later the horse was caught, but my things were lost irretrievably.
About this time my landlady gave me the sad information that she was moving to another place, and would therefore have to give me notice. I was very sorry to leave such peaceful rooms and this kindly family. The move took place on May 11. I found another place, it is true, but it was dear, and the accommodation was poor.
On the 19th I went off hunting into the bush. As I was approaching the Maori pa of Moeraki, I saw the chief's daughter riding astride like a man, but as soon as she saw me coming, she rode away like a whirlwind. A great collection of dogs behind her fell on my dog, and I had to drive them off with my whip. From here I turned back to Lyttelton, but all the people I
In the town itself I found the force of colonial custom still more severe. In vain I wandered from hotel to hotel; all of them refused to serve me as soon as they saw my sporting dress, even though, according to law, I had a right to claim attention as a traveller. With empty stomach and mouth dry as a bone, I sadly continued my way back to Christchurch.
On my next excursion, to Taylor's Mistake, I noticed a good-sized animal running between the rocks. On killing it, I was astonished to find it was a brown rat of exceptional size. I found from the half-gnawed remains strewn about that it had been living on sea-spiders and stranded fish.
A few skins of Apteryx australis, the Alpine kiwi, arrived from the west coast. These birds had been regarded as extinct, no specimen having been found for the last five years, I bought four pair for my collection for about £40, and carefully prepared them.
I was at work up to the 28th on a tiger. While painting the mouth of the animal, a curious farmer came into the laboratory and asked why I had painted so many stripes on its body. He was astounded when I told him that the natural skin of the animal had these markings!
A farmer from New Brighton came to see me one day, and offered me a rare species of whale (Ziphedon) which had been stranded on the coast. I went along with my assistant, and it took eight days' hard work before we could cut the fat and flesh off the bones.
It had been my aim ever since I had come to New Zealand to get hold of a well-trained dog — one that would be of service in all eventualities. I had already tried several, but none of them proved very useful. At length I succeeded in getting hold of a young New Zealander, whom I called Cæsar. He was two months old, and so ugly that my friends congratulated me on having found the ugliest dog in the country.
I stuck to my opinion, however, and reared him on a mixture of kindness and severity. Within a short time he had mastered all the things necessary to a good hunting dog. Not only that, but he developed qualities quite out of the ordinary, so that he became the companion of all my expeditions, faithful and clever as any human being. Cæsar served me for eleven years, and what a wonder of sagacity, faithfulness, and self-sacrifice he was, passes the measure of all belief. On leaving the country, I wrote the history of this intrepid New Zealander, which was published by Mr. Brett of Auckland, and I took the liberty of dedicating it 'To the people of New Zealand.'
Dr. von Haast, the celebrated New Zealand geologist, who for many years had been visiting and exploring the New Zealand mountain region, one day proposed a joint expedition to the Alps, in the hopes of
Cæsar
We started on February 27, at seven o'clock in the morning. We first went by rail to Colgate, and from there continued our way merrily — too merrily, alas! — in a two-wheel cart across trackless country, through creeks and swamps. We had to hang on pretty tight, and greeted the sight of the boarding-house of Wind — whistle, perched high above the Rakaia River, with a sigh of relief. This house gets its strange name from the fact that through all the rooms, even when only a light breeze is blowing, the wind whistles in all keys.
We jumped out of the wretched cart, thanking God that none of our bones were broken. A hearty meal also cheered us up. Then we amused ourselves by shooting at empty bottles, until Mr. Gerhart came along with his wagon to take us to the station at Snowdon.
Gerhart, whom Dr. von Haast had informed of our intentions, was a rich farmer, who inhabited a comfortable farmhouse in these beautiful alpine highlands, situated among wide-stretching pastures. He treated us with the utmost kindness.
Next morning I was out at dawn to look at the magnificent landscape. Here cultivated land bordered right upon the virgin mountain world. Grass-covered terraces and hill-tops mounted right up from the broad plain, through which the Rakaia made its way along a
After breakfast, horses were saddled; we thanked our host, and left the station, accompanied by a shepherd. Up and down wound the serpentine path. The horses behaved like true climbers, though at one difficult place our pack-horse nearly managed to lose his load. About three in the afternoon we came to a valley, where we found several shepherds camped beside a wool-wagon. They gave us a good meal of mutton, bread, and tea, which went down particularly well after our strenuous ride.
We took a three hours' rest and then went on, safely crossing the Wilberford River. The current, however, carried my dog so far downstream that it took him half an hour to struggle back to us. Towards evening we reached Mr. Neave's station, Rakaia Fork. A shepherd took charge of our horses, and we entered the house, where a hearty welcome awaited us.
I was not a little surprised to be addressed in German by the lady of the house. She turned put to have been a Baroness von Rosenburg, and had been born in Dresden. After an excellent meal she entertained us to a pianoforte concert. Masterpieces of music
Next morning, March 1, 1879, a shepherd and I started off on a reconnoitring expedition. First we climbed the neighbouring Goathill, the foot of which we reached by means of a sheep-track through pine, shrub, and fern-tree. The higher we got, the weaker and more stunted the vegetation became. The ground was covered with various kinds of fern, lichen, and moss. Above the wood, numbers of sheep were grazing among the tussock. Still higher up we came to rocks, among which we plucked some edelweiss. From here we climbed on to Mount Alcides. It was hard going, but a romantic panorama of glaciers, lakes, rivers, and streams, tumbling in cascades from the heights, made it Worth while. We then climbed down into the valley, where there was a shepherds' hut, and there stopped the night.
Up and breakfasted by dawn of the following day, we now climbed upwards over snowfields, and reached the summit about two o'clock in the afternoon. Unfortunately, this time we could not see far, as a heavy mist came up out of the valleys. It began to snow, so we started on the homeward trail. We lost our way in the mist, and had a terrible job clambering over the rocks, along wild mountain torrents, and then through the bush, until finally we reached the old shepherds' hut, which we lost no time in occupying.
This same day, while I was out hunting over the rocks, Cæsar gave me an unexpected surprise. Tail wagging and mouth tightly shut, he came rushing up to me. Uncomprehending, I ordered him to open his mouth. To my great astonishment out flew — a little bird! Cæsar gazed in the direction in which it disappeared, and then turned to me reproachfully as much as to say, 'If you had only understood, then my captive would not have escaped.' Later on he developed his skill to such a fine art that he would catch butterflies alive in his mouth and bring them along to me.
A frightful snowstorm got up during the night, which shook our hut as though it were made of paper. This continuous bad weather forced us to turn back next day. We reached the station about seven o'clock that evening.
On March 4, at three in the morning, the horses were saddled and packed. Our party had been augmented by three men, so that now five of us rode away towards the mountains. A pack-horse with tucker, camp equipment, and instruments followed. As there was no track, we rode across the open, through shrub, grass, and over broken, boulder-strewn ground, then across some creeks and up a valley. On all sides thick bush stretched up the mountain-sides, broken here and there by masses of dark rock, over which waterfalls were tumbling. We called a halt about six in the evening, tents were pitched, wood collected, and soon the billy was simmering over the open fire. Supper consisted of mutton, bread, and tea, and a
Save for the grazing of the horses, which had been tied together close by, silence reigned supreme. Wekas gathered round the fire, which was a strange thing to them, and occasionally let out their drumlike call, ending in a melancholy pipe. Little wood-owls passed like ghosts over the still-glowing fire, hunting for rats, which were gnawing at the bones we had thrown away. We crept into our tents and were soon asleep. If began to rain, and as these were only made of thin calico, the water came through and waked me.
On March 5 the horses were brought in, and after a hasty snack we were soon away. We went along the wide bed of the Rakaia. The landscape was the same as on the previous day, only that we began to get a view of the snow-covered mountain-tops. Small herds of wild cattle took to flight when they caught the wind from our direction, and made quite a to-do breaking into the bush or flopping into the foaming river and swimming to the other side.
Towards three o'clock we reached a half-fallen hut. This being a good camping-ground, where the horses could also find food, we pitched our tents. A great distance off, at the foot of the Ramson Glacier, I noticed little moving figures. Field-glasses showed them to be a herd of some thirty wild cattle out on the open grassland. I took my rifle and tried to stalk them, but they must have winded me, for they moved still farther off.
Another member of the expedition who had hurried after me killed a young beast. As the shot rang out, the herd dispersed in all directions, one old stock-bull jumping into the river, which carried him down with it, but he worked his way across in masterly fashion, and then disappeared into the bush. The dead beast was skinned and cut up. He was very fat, and soon his sirloins were roasting over the camp fire. Sides and back were cut into small pieces, salted, and hung up in the air to dry, while the remainder was kept for our dogs.
Our next camp was situated at the foot of Whitcombe Pass, where the ground formed itself into grassy terraces. Round about the scenery was wonderful. A few hundred yards before us the Rakaia River took its source from the icy rim of the glacier, the Whitcombe River tumbled in cascades along its stony bed, and the Ramson and Lyell Glaciers stretched their mighty surfaces of gleaming ice right into the valley. We could hear avalanches crashing down with the noise of thunder. Alpine parrots were inspecting our camp with curious eyes from the surrounding trees. Every man had his job to do: Mr. Enys was the cook, Mr. Neave chopped wood and helped Dr. von Haast wash up, Mr. Bonn looked after the horses, while I
A South Island River
On the 6th of March we rode to the river. Mr. Neave, who had the reputation of being one of the best of men to find his way across a ford, went on in front to discover a place that was neither too deep nor too rapid. We rode in after him. The stream carried us down a bit, but we all landed safely. Between the wall of rock and the river there was only just enough room for the horses to find a footing. I helped Dr. von Haast with a rope, for he was no longer young, and had grown somewhat corpulent. After a few hours' climbing, we came out on to a tableland covered with tussock. Round us stretched three glaciers, the Ramson, the Lyell, and one which Dr. von Haast named after me, the Reischek Glacier.
We found on this tableland, heather, marigolds, and a great quantity of snow-berries, with which we refreshed ourselves. We noticed bird-tracks, which Dr. von Haast at first took to be those of a notornis, but after a, fresh inspection we decided they were kiwi marks. Otherwise we saw neither bird nor insect, save that Mr. Enys caught a new species of butterfly. Dr. von Haast stayed behind here, as he was feeling rather tired. I went on climbing farther over the snow and ice — of the Reischek Glacier. By the time I returned, Dr. von Haast had arranged his plants. We packed everything, and started on the descent. The undergrowth was so thick that in many places we could not get through, and had to climb over. This proved
Eventually we came upon our horses. My companions crossed the river while I was strapping my collection on the saddle, and on this account I paid no heed to where they had crossed. When I rode into the water I found I was too low down and my horse was forced against a great wall of rock close on to a waterfall. It was a tight corner, but we clambered out all right.
It was late evening by the time we reached our tents. We found them plastered with hundreds of great blow-flies which had covered our bedding and clothing with their eggs. Even after we had pulled down the tent and cleaned out our bunks, such a buzzing persisted the whole night through that none of us could sleep. Mr. Whitcombe, the courageous explorer after whom this Pass was named, had lost his life like this. Some years before, when returning this way from an expedition, the blow-flies spoiled all his provisions and covered his blankets with eggs, making them quite useless. Consequently he was starved and frozen to death.
Next morning, March 7, various members of our little party went off on their own, Dr. von Haast only remaining behind to mend his clothes and arrange his plants. Enys and Neave went reconnoitring, Bonn went to catch the horses, and I climbed Rose Glacier from the south. To reach the snowfield was a four hours' climb, and then I had to turn back on account
After lunch I went to the Whitcombe River. Parrots were sitting among the rocks. I followed, but did not succeed in stalking any. I heard some mountain duck on the river, and shot one, which my dog had some difficulty in retrieving from the rapid current. Soon after it began to grow dark, until the moon rose and lit up the surroundings with its pale rays. The waste of glacier with its shimmering ice and snow lay before me, and on either side were steep walls of rock which threw a deep shadow into the valleys below. Perfect silence reigned, save for the occasional pipe of a mountain duck.
I got back very late, to find the camp in deep sleep. I ate the supper they had left for me, and then lighted a fire a little way off, for it was very cold. Once again I heard the call of the bird which the others had heard the previous night. It was similar to that of the Laurus dominicanus, though this had never been met with here. I tried to find out where he was, and went on looking for him until two o'clock, when I gave it up, and went to sleep.
Tents were struck on March 8, horses saddled and packed, and the return journey begun. The weather was beautiful, the rivers low and easy to cross, so we made good progress, and reached Mr. Neave's station in the evening, where we received the warmest welcome from his wife and children. We ate a hearty supper, lingered for a while discussing our experiences, and then went to bed.
The following afternoon I went off on a four days' excursion on my own. The track, if one might call it such, led through a valley. I had a big load to carry, and on that account made slow progress. I had to wade through two streams, and then reached the old shepherds' hut. It was ten o'clock that night before I made a fire. My supper consisted of bread and tea. The night was stormy and cold, and I had to remain sitting by the fire all night, as I had only one blanket. As a result one-half of my body was roasted while the other was freezing cold.
Next morning I left Cæsar behind, as he had hurt his paws on the sharp rocks, and after a frugal break-fast started off along the sheep-track. Towards midday I came to a bare slope covered with great boulders, which prevented further climbing. Refusing to be baffled, I knotted a rope of flax (Phormium tenax), tied it fast to a jutting piece of rock, unloaded my gun, and began to climb round. After I had slid about 12 yards down, the knot broke, and I fell. I was properly bruised, and lay unconscious for some time, though fortunately some bushes had helped to soften my fall. After I had recovered, I clambered onwards, negotiating several nasty rocks. It was four o'clock in the morning before I reached the summit of this glacier-surrounded peak.
The first streaks of dawn revealed to me a broad landscape with numerous waterfalls, five rivers, a lake, and bush-clad valleys. While I was climbing down again, a severe storm got up, and I had to creep on all fours in some places to save myself from being
I awoke in the morning stiff with cold. A cup of tea warmed me up, and I went along the river-bed into the bush, which seemed to possess little undergrowth and no feathered inhabitants. Several creeks flowed through this forest. I clambered up the side of a stony slope until my progress was completely blocked by a deep ravine filled with snow. I had to turn back then, and reached camp late.
At five o'clock next morning I started for the station, for my tucker was at an end. I got there about six p.m. On the 12th the weather was bad, a warm wind springing up with rain. The river was rapidly rising, and I wanted to start on the return journey, but Mr. Neave would not allow it. Next day, March 13, the river had risen so much that the three separate streams were united into one, and the roar could be heard from the house. Mr. Neave had the best horses saddled in a hurry, and we rode away in quick time. When we got to the river we could not locate the ford, for the water was over the banks and very muddy. We made two unsuccessful attempts to cross; the third time, however, we succeeded in swimming over, though we got thoroughly wet through.
I cantered alone over the grass-covered hillside. When I reached the top I saw Lake Coleridge and
On April 12 of this year I went to Pigeon Bay with a friend for a few days' hunting. We took the little coastal steamer from Lyttelton. Climbing Mount Fitzherbert, I managed to wound, with a borrowed percussion gun, a wild pig, whose tracks I followed to the water's edge, where another shot finished him off.
I waited in vain until July for my debtors to pay me what they owed. I could not delay my intended journey to the North Island any longer, so I asked Dr. von Haast to take over their collection for me, and fixed the day of departure with Captain Grundy.
On the 17th the schooner Torea weighed anchor and ran out of Lyttelton Harbour. The night was calm and the sea glowing with millions of phosphorescent fireflies. My bed was a hard bench, for the little ship was carrying a good cargo, and there was little free space available. Towards midnight we passed Cook Straits, when a gale sprang up from the south-east, and we saw nothing save mountains of water. Sails were reefed and all made fast against the storm, and two men were posted at the wheel.
By the 20th the sea had somewhat abated, and we found ourselves some 40 miles from the Kaipara River. We hoped to run in next day, but a vigorous nor' — easter drove us still farther out to sea. I had the greatest difficulty in keeping my feet, and once, had the skipper not been there to grab me by my legs, I should have been washed overboard. This accident persuaded him to confine me to the cabin, and I was told not to come on deck any more.
For four days more we tossed about on the open sea without daring to approach the land. At length we
July 28 found us making yet one more effort to run in, as conditions got better, but we were scarce among the sandbanks at the river-mouth when the whole sky blackened. The captain gave the order to put out to sea again, and high time it was, for almost as soon as we were clear of the sandbanks the weather became worse than ever. To add to our troubles, water, light, and coal were at an end, and the crew seemed utterly exhausted.
Captain Grundy, however, decided to make a last attempt that evening, and sent for me to come upon deck.
The spectacle was overpowering. Breakers were dashing like thunder over the many sandbanks, dotted here and there by the remains of stranded ships. The current, too, wound bewilderingly, making navigation exceptionally dangerous, particularly for a skipper unacquainted with the coast. A couple of men were posted forrard with axes to knock away the foreplanks, should that prove necessary to prevent us getting swamped crossing the bar.
Like a bird the Torea swept into the sheltered
I saw the remains of good-sized pas on the hill-tops, while in the valleys were kaingas, or open Maori villages, with one or two isolated farms. We anchored at Whakahara, where our goods were unloaded, and in the evening the captain and I supped with Mr. Clark, the station owner. The evening passed with tales of early settlement among the natives; for Clark, as one of the first settlers, had many yarns to tell about their customs and habits, wars and cannibalism.
Early next morning we sailed upstream to Kopuru, a little township consisting of a saw-mill, some workmen's houses, a store, and a boarding-house. Here were lying mighty kauri trunks up to 12 feet in diameter. A second large saw-mill lay farther up the river, belonging to the Union Sash and Door Company. There we loaded a cargo of timber, and I made the acquaintance of Mr. Harders, a Holsteiner, who greeted me like a brother.
On the 30th we went upstream again as far as Mangawara, where we came upon several native canoes laden with kauri gum, which they were bartering for food and clothing. The women were carrying the smaller children in mats slung across the back, but they took little notice of them, and sat quietly smoking their pipes. If a kiddie cried too much, a pipe was thrust in its mouth to keep it quiet. Of the adults, the men were tattooed on face, shoulders,
After unloading we continued on to Dargaville, an English settlement, where the brothers Mitchelson had large stores and ships. The Torea was one of these. Dargaville was the largest place in this district, with two hotels, bank, post office, English church, library, and so on. In the neighbourhood were mighty kauri forests, and a kainga where old Chief Parori was living. His face was so richly tattooed that scarce an inch of skin was visible.
By August 1 we were back at Aratapu, where we were to take on a load of timber for the south. The captain now gave the vessel over to the first mate, and he and I left by the little river-boat Zino for Helens-ville, which we reached the same evening. A narrow-gauge line took us on to Riverhead, where we got a steamer down the Waitamata River to Auckland.
Auckland was then a town of 44,000 inhabitants. On the many volcanic hills surrounding its beautiful harbour could still be seen the remains of ancient Maori pas, which now formed a peaceful pasture-ground for sheep and cattle. But once ùp there, I thought to myself, the bloodiest fights have been fought, and gruesome cannibalism indulged in.
We went to a little boarding-house, for a poor naturalist cannot afford to stop at first-class hotels. The walls of my rooms were filthy, and the jug and wash-basins, judging from the rings round them, had
Onehunga I found to be a respectably sized township inhabited principally by pensioners and seafaring people. Captain Grundy took me to his home, and introduced me to his wife and children, who fell on his neck for joy, for his long absence and the stormy weather had made them anxious.
On August 5 I settled some business with Mr. Cheeseman, Director of the Auckland Museum, and a few days later the captain and I went back to Kaipara. Reaching Kaihu at eleven o'clock at night, we stayed till early morning with a party of men who invited us to join them. Returning to the ship, we stole un-perceived into a ladies' cabin, where we made our-selves comfortable, until all of a sudden I was, roused by the sound of female voices. Hurriedly waking my companion, we slipped out noiselessly before any one had the chance of swooning at sight of us.
At Aratapu, Mr. Basit, a local farmer, took me to
Another excursion took me to Mr. Webb's farm along the river, where the farmer's son escorted me to another burial-ground — leaving me, however, to investigate alone, as the natives threaten every violator of the grave-tapu with death. Here in the first cave I found four complete skulls and many broken bones, but for all my pains could not succeed in piecing a complete skeleton together. Digging, I came across an ornament carved out of a leg-bone, on one side of which was represented a face, and on the other, the head of a lizard. In one hole I found the half-rotten remains of a stretcher made of manuka branches bound together with mats, with a pile of bones.
I made the acquaintance of the Maoris of the district, and Chief Pairama told me the tribe formerly living here had been people very good at working and cultivation, but who knew little about fighting. His forefathers had conquered them, eating those they killed, and enslaving the rest. After much bargaining, and at a good stiff price, I managed to get from him a magnificently carved prow (tanihu) of a canoe of the Uriohau tribe, which came out of the tauro). Altogether Kaipara and North Wairoa proved a good collection-ground for me.
On August 12 I went to the swamp to look for larks (katata), and also found the kauri grub (Helix busby), only to be seen in the kauri area. I got thoroughly wet through in so doing. Days later the steamer Zino took me to
Maoris and bush-fellers were making merry in the cabin on whisky and other liquor, which they drank like water. Things came to a free fight, a few black eyes resulting, before we reached
I found a haven with Mr. Wilson at his bush farm, which was only connected with the outside world by water. Two Maori villages, however, were within reach. On August 14, 1879, my host and I went up the Wairoa some distance, and plunged into the bush till we came to the remains of an old pa, now tapu. We had a good look round before entering, and found
It was a beautiful morning. Wild pigeons were flying high in the cloudless sky, somersaulting in the air and catching flies; parakeets were circling above the tree-tops in graceful curves, or sweeping down among the foliage; and I could also hear the bell-birds singing among the wild vines. I waited patiently, knowing well that with the coming of night my two Maoris would take shelter from the demons of darkness. I was not wrong. As the sun set, they got up and went into the village.
I then left my hiding-place and went carefully forward through the growing dusk. Following a ditch, my hand came into contact with some warm body,
The Wild North Coast
Before me lay a fallen hut, the one-time palace of the great chief, Ngapui Tirorau, one of the most fearsome cannibals of North Wairoa. His son and successor, now an old man, was no longer living here, and the silence was impressive, only broken now and again by the grunt of a wild pig. I waited for a time, listening, and then lit my dark-lantern. Little night-owls came fluttering towards the light, stopping in the trees near by, and calling out their lonely 'Morepork!' Leaving Cæsar to watch, I crept into the fallen hut.
Within lay two rotted and carved coffins, and close by were cases of death-offerings, wooden clubs, stone axes, tuki-tuki, etc. I took the stone and wooden tools with me and went outside. From the hut itself I took the long middle post made of totara, on which was a very beautiful tekateka, or carved figure, representing the face of Chief Tirorau fully tattooed. I carefully dragged the post to the river and sawed off the head. So that I should leave no trace, I let the sawdust fall into the water. I then packed the head and the other things into my rucksack, put out the lantern, and turned off homewards.
In the darkness I lost my way, and suddenly dogs began to bark near me — I had stumbled by mistake on the Maori village! I drew back into the wood and